Classic Poem

O WHISPERING Phantom and fair
Of the April of two years ago!
Rising here in the delicate air,
How strange are the pictures you show!

I see you, with Triumph that sounds
In the cannon and flashes in light,
Glide over these blossoming grounds
Through the crowded rejoicing at night.

And I see you where steel is reversed
To the funeral drum's stifled beats,
To the thought of a murder accursed,
To the bugle's long wail down the streets;

To the dust, under bells moving slow
With the weight of a people's great grief,
Among flags falling dark-draped and low,
To the dead-march behind the lost chief:

Who was wrapp'd in your beautiful hours
As he pass'd to his glory and rest,
His coffin-lid sweet with your flowers
And his last human look in your breast!